


baby it's cold outside

by biggrstaffbunch



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:58:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1502768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggrstaffbunch/pseuds/biggrstaffbunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is cold. Bucky offers a solution. Among other things.</p><p>[Pre-serum fumbling in the dark.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby it's cold outside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myownremedy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myownremedy/gifts).



> Based on a lovely prompt from the equally lovely Julia. Hope I've done it justice, bb!

 

"Bucky."

No answer. Steve tries valiantly to hold in the sneeze itching at his nose. It doesn't work.

"Bucky," he says again, louder this time. He's on his mattress in the corner of the room and Bucky's maybe a couple of feet away. Volume shouldn't be the issue, which means Bucky is ignoring him.

Another sneeze. Bucky sighs audibly. Steve grins.

"Bucky," he wheedles. "I'm cold."

Bucky turns over on his mattress, his features shadowed in the dark. Steve squints, can just make out the cut of his cheekbones and the glitter of his green eyes. He looks miffed.

"Who's fault is that, tough guy?" he asks, voice low. "Offered'cha my coat and what'd you do? Walked out the door in a shirt that's thinner than these damn walls."

Steve frowns. "I wasn't gonna take your coat, Buck," he says reprovingly. "Just need to sell another drawing. Or two. Then I can buy my own, and we'll  _both_ be warm."

Bucky huffs. "Punk," he says. "Winter's not a joke. We got the stove burning in here, but what're you gonna do when you go outside and nearly freeze to death?" He props himself up on an elbow. "You gotta let me take care of you, Steve."

Steve sighs. "It's not your job," he says, trying to suppress a shiver.

The firm line of Bucky's mouth eases a little. "Nah," he agrees, gaze going intent even in the dark. "But I'm always gonna do it anyway, so shut your yap." He lightens his tone. "Anyway, it's what I'm good at, ain't it? Don't rob me of my life's purpose, oh please, Stevie--"

Steve throws a balled up sock at Bucky's head. "Idiot," he says, swallowing down the affection in his chest. "Are you gonna keep yelling at me, or are you gonna toss me another blanket?"

Bucky huffs again. "We don’t got another blanket,” he says. “Besides, it wouldn’t do any good. I can hear you shaking from here. Won't be able to sleep, the way your teeth're chattering."

He rolls off his mattress, dragging his blanket along with him. "Shove over," he commands.

Steve moves his mouth without sound.

“Steve?”

Look. Sharing a bed with Bucky isn't exactly a  _new_ thing. They used to do it all the time as kids, the same way Bucky's little sister shares with Bucky's parents on really cold nights.

It's just...they're not kids anymore. They're almost twenty, and Bucky isn't a jumble of awkward preteen limbs, freezing feet and weirdly sticky hands. Now, Bucky's got strong arms and broad shoulders and he burns like he's his own personal beam of sunlight.

"Steve," Bucky repeats, and he's crouched over Steve, outlined by the thin glow coming in from the frosted-over window. "Com'n, scoot."

Steve swallows, shakes his head to rid himself of that half-dazed feeling. "Okay," he says. "Yeah, fine. Shut up."

Bucky gives a snort and flops down behind Steve. His back takes the wall, leeching the cold from the concrete. Immediately, Steve feels a few degrees warmer.

"Ungrateful brat," he mutters into Steve's ear, and throws a careless arm over Steve’s waist, pulling him in and tucking him close.

Something bottoms out in Steve's belly when he feels Bucky breathe against his neck. 

He goes very still for several long minutes as Bucky shifts, settling. His heart picks up the pace, slamming against his ribcage, loud in his ears. A repressed cough starts rattling away in his chest and he feels his limbs shake from the force of holding it in. 

“Go to _sleep_ ,” Bucky says, tone darkly amused. His hand drops to rub a soothing circle over Steve’s chest. The motion feels so nice, hot and anchoring, that Steve curls involuntarily around Bucky’s arm, clutching at his wrist. Bucky’s voice softens. “If you miss work ‘cause you’re tired on top of that cough, I ain’t waking you.”

That threat, one that Bucky would definitely carry out, dire consequences or not, makes Steve finally close his eyes. He lets the tension to seep from his spine, relaxes enough to pat Bucky’s hand, still over his chest.

“Thanks, Buck,” he says.

Bucky’s fingers catch his before he can move. “Don’t mention it, pal,” he says after a long, quiet moment. 

Steve drifts to sleep, heat at his back and the sound of Bucky’s breathing like one of his ma’s old world lullabies in his ear.

 

-

_“Come on, Rogers. That the best you can do?”_

_Bucky looks up at you, handsome face outlined by the watery light coming from the predawn sky outside. He is sprawled in your bed, shirt open at the collar and untucked, trousers half-undone. His hair tumbles over his bright eyes, and the muscles in his forearms tense as he grips your waist, thumbs pressing into the tender skin over your ribs._

_You stare down at him, lying in the hushed tangle of your bed and its blankets, lips parted and shiny, kiss-swollen and red. Bracing your arms on either side of his head, you drop your hips, bringing your dick flush against his._

_“I can do better than you ever imagined, Barnes,” you promise, letting loose a smile that radiates outward, to the tips of your fingers, the soles of your feet._

_Bucky’s groans, and then he’s tugging your head down to his, letting his mouth open under your own. He kisses like he’s hungry, tongue stroking, rhythm restless, searching. His hands move down your back, settling over the curve of your ass, pulling you closer._

_He gives a bitten-off cry as you slip a hand between the press of your bodies, rubbing at his cock through his pants._

_“Steve,” he says, and his voice is broken. “Steve, fuck—“_

_“Bucky—“ You’re gasping now, biting at the long line of a tendon in his neck. “Can I—“ Your fingers catch on his zipper._

_“Yes, **Jesus** ,” he says, and you have to catch his mouth again to hide the grin at that._

_His fingers skim up and sink into your hair when your tongue circles his, and then he’s tilting your head, kissing you deeply enough that when you break apart for a moment to breathe, you can still taste him._

_“Steve,” he says again. “God, Steve—“ His cock is heavy in your hand. Silky, hot. Thick, familiar and not all at the same time. The sound of him cursing, pleading, a thin, cracked quality to his voice, makes you bold. You bring your hand to his mouth, tip your thumb past his lips, watch as he licks finger by finger. Then you’re dropping your hand back to his dick, jacking him off with slow, steady strokes that make his pupils blow wide, throat bare as his head tips back._

_It feels—_

_“Steve—“_

_It feels—_

 

_

 

Steve wakes up with his body on fire.

Not literally, but. Might as well be. His cheeks feel stained with heat, chest tight, fist—

Fist curled around his cock, thumb sweeping the head, hand working in urgent conjunction with the gasps punching out of his chest.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, turns his face into the pillow, tries to muffle the low keen at how _good_ it feels, each tug, the slick friction of his sweaty palm, the heat of Bucky at his back—

Bucky. _Fuck,_ Bucky.

The dream comes flooding back, bursts behind Steve’s eyelids, the picture of Bucky’s body beneath his, his mouth twisted around Steve’s name, the feel of his hands and the fall of his hair, the way he came apart so easily.

Steve knows—he _knows_ it won’t ever happen, that this isn’t right, that Bucky is his _friend_ and it’s not _right_.

Doesn’t stop him from muttering Bucky’s name, helpless, a whine, a whimper, even as the a flood of shame, prickly and hot, settles over him.

One stroke, two, the sound of Bucky’s breathing and Steve’s so close—

Only…only, wait.

The steady, shallow inhale-exhale, the slight whistle when Bucky lies on his side. It’s changed. Steve tries to slow his breathing, stills his hand even though the ache spirals through him, begging him to just _finish._

He strains his ears and—there. The sound of breathing is different now. Rapid. Deep. Great sweeps of air. Like he’s _awake._

“Steve.”

And there's Bucky’s voice, sleep-roughened, low. 

Steve doesn’t know what’s worse—the totality of humiliation at being caught or the fact that he wants to _keep going._

“Steve,” Bucky says again, and now he’s rolling over from where he’d shifted in sleep, coming back to plaster himself along Steve’s side, hand hovering hesitantly over Steve’s waist.

Steve ducks his head, tries not to flinch away. Tries not to press closer.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers miserably, throat aching. “Buck, I’m—“

Bucky’s hand falls over Steve’s, the jolt of skin against skin enough for Steve to gasp out loud, drag in a shaking, shuddering breath.

“Told you I’d always take care of you, didn’t I?” he asks. “Stevie, lemme—lemme help you—“

And Steve, because sometimes even _he’s_ weak at heart and will, does. 

He whispers a half-spoken word that might be _please_. That’s all Bucky needs to knock Steve’s hand away, to wrap his hand around Steve’s dick, pre-come leaking from the head to ease the slide of his palm as he strokes from root to tip.

Steve can’t help the way his hips push forward, or the grip he’s got on Bucky’s forearm now, the little noises coming from his throat as Bucky works him over.

“Bucky—“

“I got you,” Bucky says, “Shh, now. I got you.” 

Steve can feel the ridge of Bucky’s cock up against his back.  The thought that this isn’t just some misguided attempt to make him feel better, that this is making Bucky _hard_ , that he’s feeling even a fraction of what Steve is, itgets his balls seize up, tighten, and then—

“ _Bucky._ ”

Steve comes in a hot rush, his vision whiting out for a long second.

When he blinks back into awareness, Bucky’s already reaching for a flannel, a smile skirting the edges of the otherwise inscrutable expression on his face.

“You okay?” he asks, cheeks and ears tinged pink even in the darkness. “Think you can sleep now, insomniac?"

Steve takes a breath. Drops his eyes deliberately to the bulge in Bucky’s pajamas, then to the way his gaze is darting from Steve’s lips to his hands to the ceiling above, like he’s trying to talk himself out of anything further.

He considers that in all these years of Bucky taking care of Steve, maybe Steve ought to take care of Bucky right back.

“Nah,” Steve says, and tugs Bucky closer by the wrist. “Got something to do first.”

 

-

 

He never does end up buying another blanket.

They make do.


End file.
